


back alley uproar

by thanatopis



Category: Joker Game (Anime)
Genre: Fukumoto is pinning for Odagiri basically, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6833653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanatopis/pseuds/thanatopis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fukumoto, under the disguise of reporter Shiozuka Hajime, decides to go catch himself some tail for all the reasons he was told not to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	back alley uproar

**Author's Note:**

> So who else has like, a major crush on Fukumoto and fell a little bit in love with him during his episode? I did!!
> 
> But on a somewhat serious note, Fukumoto interest me a helluva lot! The guy is an amazing master of disguise, like I didn't even know the reporter what him until the end of the goddamn episode, I was like damnn, boi can get it lol. What made me want to write this however was the official description of how Odagiri and Fukumoto are close, and that just made me wonder what the hell they even talk about because neither of them are chatty Kathy's and both hide emotions and distance themselves from the group somewhat, so I just really had this desire to be a fly on the wall when they're alone together.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy..whatever this is.

Shiozuka Hajime, the reporter, is a fickle, irresolute man.

Fukumoto enjoys donning Hajime’s skin despite the work that goes into it—the _energy_. Fukumoto also, somewhat sadistically, enjoys getting under people’s skin in the way only Hajime can do with his quick-to-come smile, sleazy and just a bit too sharp around the edges, and how his character allows for all sorts of debauchery that Fukumoto, the spy, would find unwise to indulge in simply as he is.

He adores Shanghai, Fukumoto really, truly does. It’s a city that never seems to sleep and if you look closer than its fancy night clubs and five-star hotels, Shanghai is sinister and unforgiving in the most alluring of ways. Fukumoto is entertained here, more so than he’s ever been anywhere else. It’s an added benefit of the job that he’s not required to have, and yet…

Shiozuka Hajime grins cheekily down the length of bar at the man who resides three padded stools away from him. The English imported bar is located in the bowels of Shanghai, a place people come to either be left alone to drown in their sorrows, or to find someone who wants late night company. And Shiozuka Hajime is most _certainly_ looking for that special someone to keep his night thrilling.

Already a couple of shots into the night and Fukumoto feels mildly inebriated, his body is lax and loose, his hair is messy and in disarray, and his glasses rest low on the bridge of his nose as his lips linger over the rim of the shot glass.

He laughs huskily in amusement when the man quickly turns his head, flush painting over his cheeks at his intimate stare. It’s cute. Immensely—that shyness and unease of something never before explored or experienced. Fukumoto wants to introduced this man to pleasures only obtained by touching male flesh. He also kind of wants to wreck him until he’s begging, but that can wait until later he decides.

Fukumoto absentmindedly acknowledges how much the stranger looks like Odagiri in the dim, smoky light, but it’s a fleeting thought, dashed away by common sense and a lot of will-power on his part. Odagiri definitely wouldn’t blush at his stare. Instead, he would probably meet it head-on, challenging and beautifully defiant and just—

He needs to stop or else he’s going to lose interest and not go through with this at all.

The man visibly gulps when Fukumoto comes to sit next to him, and he smiles, loosening his tie with long, slender fingers, and tries not to grin triumphantly as the man’s dark eyes flicker to the tease of his exposed chest.

“What can I get you?” Shiozuka Hajime asks, silky, clearly signaling how he wants this evening to end. The man weighs his answer, looking both conflicted and intrigued by Fukumoto’s sensuous, deep-set eyes that bore into him, keeping him entranced and rooted to the spot.

“Whisky sour,” The man says, quiet and coy, looking up at him through long, dark lashes. Odagiri would never—

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hajime grins, shrugging. “Drinking loves company, isn’t that what they say?”

It’s not what they say, but they both ignore the truth in favor of forgetting.

They leave the bar together after 20 minutes of shallow small talk and a buzz good enough to appreciate having his back slammed up against a stone wall. Fukumoto laughs breathily as the man kisses him right there in the alley way—filthy, wet, and passionate—where stray cats have been known to roam and the smell of piss is acidic and offensive to his nose.

Fukumoto angles his head into the rough press of lips, putting enough force into his kiss that when he shoves his tongue down the other man’s throat, his head aches back with a groan. He tries not to compare the various reactions to what Odagiri might do, only so that he won’t find himself disappointed, more worked up than what he knows how to handle.

Fukumoto, at the core of himself, wants to be challenged, and when Odagiri had shown him small flashes of what lied underneath that cool, detached exterior, Fukumoto had found himself utterly and foolishly captivated.

They haunt him now mainly, the thoughts of Odagiri.

Fukumoto kisses harder, reverses their positions so the man is the one shoved up against the stony wall, and he allows himself this selfish luxury of pleasure, taking it as quick and as dirty as he can.

During some point, Fukumoto has to cover the man’s mouth with his palm as he pounds into him, borderline punishing with how rough he is, but he needs it, and the man seems to love it, so Fukumoto doesn’t stop. It only gets better as the man eagerly pushes back, hands flat on the wall as he writhes and cries out for more.

Fukumoto whispers filthy, depraved, and demeaning things in his ear, loving how the man shivers and whines and clenches around him.

He laughs—laughs until he’s almost delirious with how good it feels and how much he needed this. The man comes and even then, Fukumoto keeps taking and taking until he’s the one shaking and groaning, face angled up in rapture towards the dark, starless sky.

And just like that, the magic’s over and reality sets in for both.

Fukumoto pulls out easily enough, wiping himself off on the back man’s thigh before he puts himself back into his pants.

“That was fun,” Fukumoto says, truly meaning it. “I really needed that.”


End file.
